


Danse Macabre

by Hartling



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, F/F, Flashsides, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 11:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hartling/pseuds/Hartling
Summary: Sergeant Polly Oliver Perks chooses the worst possible time to act on the feelings she has for her Corporal and closest friend, Maladict. The dance must go on, but the supply of coffee has been sabotaged... probably.
Relationships: Maladict/Polly Perks
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	Danse Macabre

The band was playing a waltz that hardened a pit of despair in Polly’s stomach [[1](%E2%80%9C#note1%E2%80%9D)] as the well-dressed guests of the ballroom began to applaud politely.

Maladict looked like they would be sweating buckets if they could, and met Polly’s eye, unable to form a word. Polly did what a war-trained sergeant imagined was the right thing to do in this moment. She reached for Maladict’s lapel and kissed her dumbfounded corporal square on the lips.  
Oh, thought Polly. Oh no.  
Then the ground opened up and fell away.

\---

Fifteen minutes prior, sergeant Polly Oliver Perks of the Tenth Regiment was sure of several things:  
The Borogravia–Ankh-Morpork–Zlobenian conference had concluded exactly as expected (with Borogravia and Zlobenia in an unconvincing agreement of peace, and Ankh-Morpork looming vaguely over the both of them like a stern uncle), that the lemon tart she had eaten half of was rather dry, and that her collar had suddenly crept a little tight around her neck. The reason for the latter, though Polly would rather burst into a fit of screaming than admit it, was because Corporal Maladict had finished lurking across the foyer and was returning toward her.

Polly brushed a crumb from her crisp military-issued skirt.[[2](%E2%80%9C#note2%E2%80%9D)] It was worn below the handsome fitted red tunic of the regiment, and she figured an event of this kind was the only one where the skirt seemed appropriate. Since she had the great honour of being the first openly female soldier, it meant that she was also (for all intents and purposes to the army, and the general public) the only one. This meant that she could decide what her uniform was to be depending on how she felt, and it just so happened that on this day she liked the idea of dressing like a man from the waist up, and a woman from the waist down - for all that was worth. Maladict wore the trousers; they were content to allow those who did not know them to assume that they were a tall, dark, and handsome young man, and allow those who did know them to question the last bit. Since Polly and Maladict’s first eventful week together, slight differences had grown in the two that perhaps only the other would notice; that Polly’s fair hair was now just long enough to tuck into a short, neat braid at her neck (while Maladict’s stayed slick and short), and that each of them wore socks only on their feet.

Maladict slinked past a small gathering of Morporkian women, who fluttered looks their way and began to gather even closer, whispering pointedly. Polly suppressed a snort. As Maladict reached her, she withheld from making a remark about offering the ladies a dance with a man in uniform on account of the look on Mal’s face.  
“Are you alright?” Polly asked, only slightly dreading the answer seeing as this whole thing was the corporal’s forte, not hers.  
Maladict looked a little shifty, even for a vampire.  
“Always.” They replied, a little too quickly, and stuck an arm out to collect a delicate cup of coffee from a passing server’s plate as one whirled by. They sighed, and sipped from the floral china. Polly watched closely.  
“Mmm-uaugh. This Morporkian stuff tastes wrong,” Maladict complained,  
“It’s got no body. What’s the point?”  
Polly couldn’t help herself. As if commanded, she caught herself glancing down at Maladict’s perfectly fitted uniform, and the handsome cravat tied around their neck. Maladict took another sip, and Polly looked away.  
Polly was no fool, but she sure felt like one. She mentally kicked herself. Maladict had been acting odd all evening, and it had set something off in Polly that could never be neatly put back the way it was, no matter how hard she tried. Every little move Maladict had made that seemed twitchy, Polly had noticed it. Polly had seen boys act like this at the Dutchess, and on one odd occasion she had handed a young man his pint and he had spilled it all over her. Poor stupid thing. She could only imagine that this was what had gotten into Maladict, and secretly it made her excited beyond belief, but mostly it made her feel ill. It was something about the music, and the wonderful cliff’s edge that Borogravia was now standing on, and Maladict’s… eyebrows?

“Come now, brave Borogravians, talk time is over! The last dance is about to begin.” a man called from the open doors of the ballroom. Polly snapped back to reality.  
“I’ll fetch Blouse.” Maladict began to step away, and Polly gripped their arm desperately.  
“Don’t you dare, Mal,” Polly lowered her voice. “Or I’ll have you dance with him, Corporal.”  
Maladict had a wicked look in their eye.  
“Two men dancing together? That’s obscene.”  
“Maybe Blouse will be in skirts tonight, you never know.” Polly retorted. There was a pause, and the two burst into hushed laughter. Polly felt the tension roll off her, and snatched up the moment while she could.  
“Come on,” Polly grimaced. “It will be half a dance. I’ll step on your foot, you will be convincingly pained, and we’ll hobble off together into the crowd and see this whole thing off from the buffet table.”  
Polly spied Otto on the landing above, oo-ing and aah-ing as he snapped photographs of various people of importance.  
“And who shall lead?” Maladict groaned reluctantly as Polly half-dragged them into the ballroom.  
“You will, you idiot,” Polly whispered through clenched teeth, “I don’t know how to dance.”  
Maladict’s eyes widened just enough for Polly to register a look of terror on their face. She held out a hand, and Maladict took it dutifully. Theirs was shaking. Huh, Polly thought. Mal’s got it bad. Polly descended further into hopelessness.

\---

Maladict was standing on the dance floor, surrounded by people they knew as well as plenty of people they didn’t, with one hand in Polly Perks’ and one hand on her waist. They were also slipping vaguely in and out of reality. Maladict mentally counted how many cups of coffee they had consumed in the past few days, and quickly lost count. This couldn’t be possible.  
The dance had already started, and Maladict led Polly into a waltz. One-two-three, four-five-six, bugger! One-two… step counts merged into mental cups of coffee dancing past their eyes. Maladict chewed on the inside of their lip worriedly and tried to focus on Polly’s face. She was making a point not to look back, Maladict couldn’t help but notice. That was a new one. Oof. The edges of their vision began to blur, and a low vibration had started in the air around them. Maladict squeezed Polly’s hand.

\---

“Poll,”  
Maladict managed, as if speaking strained them. Polly hung onto the name, her heart racing and confused.  
“my beans.”  
Polly blinked. “What?”  
“Polly I think I-”  
And before Maladict could finish this thought, which was more likely to end in “I think I have been poisoned” than “I think I am in love”, a hole opened up in the ground. While this technically had happened before, not too long ago during the assault on the Fort, it certainly wasn’t something one gets used to.

There were muffled sounds of the band as it squeezed away into the right dimension, and a pop as Polly was left in the wrong one, still holding onto Maladict’s cravat. She looked up, in absolute shock, at a shifting landscape. In one moment, they stood in a creaking copse of trees at night, and the next, a crowded living room with an impossible colourful array of lights flashing rhythmically.

“Sweet Duchess, Mal-”  
She was interrupted by a wide-eyed, shaking vampire with the unmistakable look of withdrawal.  
“I don’t understand!” They wailed, their voice echoing in Polly’s head. The air seemed to flicker and flash with brief sightings of the ballroom, and Polly could see the dance in between the stuttering.  
“I saw you have a cup not ten minutes ago,” Polly tried to reason with herself. Maladict was too busy seemingly trying to tear the cravat from their neck, and Polly watched dumbfounded as they began to unbutton the stiff collar underneath.  
At that moment, the shifting around them stopped for a brief moment, and the two of them stood once again on the dance floor. Polly didn’t have time to register the sound of confused applause, or the flash of Otto’s camera as Maladict stood with their hands on their now undone collar, or the unsheathing of a Zlobenian sword, before the room reeled again and Maladict was gone. 

“Grab her!” It took too long for Polly to recognise whom the pronoun referred to, before someone’s hands closed around her arm and yanked her aside. 

“You again?” Polly managed, looking up at the perpetually unimpressed face of Vimes.[[3](%E2%80%9C#note3%E2%80%9D)]

“I could say the same thing.” He replied, glancing up as the chandelier flickered and the group of confused dancers began to mutter and yelp. Vimes pulled Polly into a corner of the room, a small wall of Anhk-Morporkian guardsmen forming between her and the eyes of the guests, who were now being roused by the resuming music as it swelled through the room.

“Where did he go, Sergeant Perks? Your corporal. And I’d prefer if you cooperated, this evening has been testing me.”  
Polly could see Angua staring down a Zlobenian diplomat just behind Vimes, who was ever so slowly returning his sword to the sheath under her gaze.

“They, um,” She began, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. “The coffee. What’s wrong with coffee in Ankh-Morpork?”  
Vimes looked annoyed. “Klatch’s best, Perks. No thanks to me, we know what happened last time, remember. Which is why we’re concerned.”

“I don’t know where Maladict went. I don’t know how the … flashsides work.” Polly replied, getting her head straight. “But we’re going to need to figure out what’s wrong with the coffee. Fast.”

—

Maladict kneeled on the ground, clutching onto their neck and frantically pulling a string of coffee beans out from under their shirt. The ballroom was long gone, and so was Polly. In their hurry, the necklace string snapped between Maladict’s shaky hands, and beans clattered to a hardwood floor below. Suddenly, feet were all around, and in the dim light Maladict had trouble finding the beans through the stomping. Someone kneeled down, picking up a single bean. Maladict looked up to look directly into the face of a young man with his face painted white. He wore a high black collar and trickling out of the corner of his mouth was a line of dark red liquid. Maladict growled and snatched the bean out of his hand and started to shuffle away in disgust, bumping into legs as they tried.  
“Rrr oo afff?” the boy managed, reaching into his mouth and pulling out a comically large set of fake, pointed teeth. A woman painted green danced past, and Maladict looked up to see a sea of people dressed in witches hats, glowing paper bones and the like dancing and shouting as they held onto shiny red cups in the loud room.  
The crouched “zombie” and “vampire” exchanged looks as Maladict began to shove all the beans they could find on the floor into their mouth. For a brief moment the bizarre pounding music and the dancing feet around them began to swirl around unbearably until the world lurched a familiar lurch and Maladict’s hands fell onto cold marble.

—

Polly found Maladict leaning against a stone bust in the antechamber. A strand of their dark hair had fallen over their forehead, and the top two buttons of their uniform were still regrettably, undone. Polly locked this thought away for later, until she spied a couple of loose coffee beans scattered around her friend.

Polly rushed over and kneeled over, desperately trying to crush a bean between the floor and her hand.

“I’m… fine. For now.” Maladict managed, out of breath and still vibrating with a bizarre energy.

Polly gave up on the coffee bean and scooped Maladict up and staggered through what she hoped was the swinging door into the kitchen. Vimes and Angua were inside, dragging the Zlobenian man by his elbow over to the serving carts.

“I told you,” he sneered, “the lords and ladies prefer not to be awake all night, commander.”

Polly propped Maladict up on a counter, and turned, ready to fight for them. Angua held up a sack of coffee and sniffed it hesitantly. “Decaffeinated.” Maladict read the label from afar.

“De...caffienated?” Polly thought aloud, as Maladict suppressed a dry heave behind her.

“You poisoned me” Maladict groaned dramatically, and Polly took two determined steps toward the Zlobenian man before Vimes threw his arm out and she strode into it. 

“A mistake.” Vimes said, standing square between the two heated parties.  
“I would prefer not to escort Borogravia’s finest out of the city, Perks.” he added, as Polly narrowed her eyes at the Zlobenian man who was now nervously adjusting his coat and clearing his throat.

“A mistake.” He agreed. “I believe one of the kitchen ladies will be able to find you a cup of the stronger stuff. They drink it back here to perk themselves up on busy nights, you see. Now if you’ll excuse me, the dance won’t be lasting forever,” he slipped through between Vimes and Angua to leave the kitchens.

Vimes and Angua turned briefly to Polly and Maladict, who was still perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, before they wordlessly nodded and disappeared after the man.

“We were supposed to get in and out, Mal. Like old times.” Polly sighed after the doors swung shut once more.  
“It was never that simple. I’m always in the right place at the wrong time.” Maladict replied quietly.  
“It’s a good thing you’ve got all the time in the world, then” Polly offered, trying to stay positive.  
Mal smiled a brief, shaky smile that didn’t last, before responding.  
“You don’t.”  
Maladict leaned in close and hesitated for a moment before returning the kiss, with a gentleness that surprised Polly and sent heat all the way through her body.  
A cook cleared her throat, and the two broke away, embarrassed to find a fresh mug of coffee sitting to Maladict’s side on the kitchen counter. Muffled applause wafted in from beyond the kitchen doors as the final waltz began to play in the ballroom.

Maladict grabbed the mug and downed the hot coffee as Polly blinked in pure relief.

Only once the cup had gone dry and returned to the counter with a clink did Maladict break the silence again. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had that dance with you, Pol. It’s only fair, I can’t let the general public think I skipped out on a dance with Sergeant Perks”.

“Did you know there are witches in other worlds? I saw one.” Maladict continued to comment idly, as Polly began to help re-button their uniform. “Maybe I should try a strong cup of tea, after all. Tea doesn’t lie to you.” They continued to ramble, and Polly smiled to herself, knowing that Mal, effortlessly cool Mal, was nervous after all.

**Author's Note:**

> 1In a way that only a waltz to the ears of the regrettably lovesick could do. This particular band was playing Shostakovich’s Waltz No. 2 [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return1%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> 2With her trousers underneath, just in case. There are some things that only a well fitting pair of trousers can prepare you for: a diplomatic conference where one might be expected to mingle, dance, and defend one’s country at swordpoint is one of them. [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return2%E2%80%9D) ]
> 
> Note: footnote links are broken. Until they can be fixed, don't click them!
> 
> 3God of getting what you deserve, sometimes.  [ [return to text](%E2%80%9C#return3%E2%80%9D) ]


End file.
